


Dispatch

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dispatch!AU, In which Douglas works as a dispatcher while at MJN, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where time travel is restricted to a limited registry of a few, Dispatch offers a very unique service.  For those who can pay the price, Dispatch will run a message to any person in the world, at any point in time.</p>
<p>Douglas' latest run takes him to the very familiar doorstep of Parkside Terrace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Missive

Forty-four year old Douglas Richardson ran through the streets of Fitton.

He pulled back his sleeve and glanced down at his watch; thirty-one minutes. Douglas looked up at a passing street sign, shook his head, and kept running.

He ran for three reasons. One, he was short on time, obviously. Two, he could; he’d been temporarily blessed with the waning strength and vigor of his youth. And three, his destination was nearby.

Even Douglas could barely believe his exceptionally good luck.

Douglas rounded the corner onto a very familiar street. He jogged past three terraced houses before racing up the path to Parkside Terrace. The house looked just as Douglas knew it in the present which was impressive considering three generations of students would come and go by then. He bounded onto the porch, skipping the not yet broken stair out of habit, and rapped loudly on the front door.

To his exceptionally good luck, Martin answered.

Twenty-three year old Martin Crieff, to be specific.

Douglas couldn’t restrain his grin as he came face-to-face with the younger version of his captain.

Martin stood just inside the threshold with a hand on the door handle. Although his hair was longer and his face showed signs of spots, Martin still carried himself with the stiff professionalism Douglas thought he’d adopted to counter the assumptions people often made about his abilities. His clothes were clean and neat and there was none of the slouch in his posture that those in their twenties were usually prone to.

“Can I help you?”

“Don’t give up.”

Martin’s carefully crafted professional image faltered for a second as he visibly pulled back in confusion.

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t give up,” Douglas repeated.

Martin paused and glanced down momentarily before looking back up at Douglas.

“I, I don’t know what you’re-”

“Yes, you do,” Douglas nodded. He stared at Martin as familiar signs of denial, then acceptance crossed his face. Douglas nodded when he felt they were on the same page. “Don’t give up,” he said again.

“Why?” Martin asked, barely lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

“Because we need you.”

“Who-”

“Because _I_ need you,” Douglas clarified. “Eight years from now, you and I are going to meet. You’re going to be a pilot; you’re going to be a _captain_.

Douglas nodded at the hopeful rise of Martin’s brow.

“You’re going to take a job at a struggling one plane charter company and you’re going to keep it alive. You’re going to give Carolyn purpose. You’re going to give Arthur a friend. And you’re going to give me love.” Douglas smiled at the thought. “You,” he said, pointing at Martin, “are going to give me the fourth chance I don’t deserve and reason after reason to stay sober. You’re going to be one of the best pilots I know and the best man I’ll ever meet. So, please, Martin, don’t give up.”

Martin was quiet for a moment. His mouth hung open slightly as he blinked up at Douglas.

“Who... who are you?”

Douglas extend his hand for a handshake; Martin looked down at the gesture as if he’d never seen it before. He looked back up at Douglas and, after a deliberate moment of thought, cautiously took Douglas’ hand in his. They shook once then Douglas pulled Martin forward in a move Martin still wasn’t used to in the present.

Martin stumbled and Douglas caught him, bringing the younger man into his space. He curled a hand over the back of Martin’s head and covered his mouth in a kiss. Douglas easily slipped into a natural rhythm as his fingers moved through familiar curls and his tongue traced over very familiar lips. Martin began to ease, to embrace his touch, forcing Douglas’ mind to remind him that, despite whatever he felt, this wasn’t his Martin; not now, not yet. He reluctantly pulled back, keeping just one hand on Martin’s slightly dazed face.

“My name is Douglas Richardson and I love you.” Douglas smiled as Martin looked up at him with the same soft expression of awe he saw the first time he said those words. He kissed Martin gently on his forehead. “I will always love you.”

Douglas stepped back from a speechless Martin, whose mouth hung open more than it did before, and turned to take his exit from the porch. He didn’t look back as he descended the steps and followed the path back down to the pavement. He continued down the street, past three terraced houses, before stopping to check his watch at the corner.

Twenty-three minutes to spare; just enough time to pop round to Carolyn’s and punch Gordon in the face.

Douglas started running.


	2. The Last Run

Forty-four year old Douglas Richardson stood over the prone body of Gordon Shappey.

He grinned down at the bastard as he shook out his hand; he’d wanted to do that for _years_.

Carolyn appeared at the door, probably due to the sound of Gordon crumbling to the floor.

Her eyes were instantly drawn down to the groaning form of her husband lying face down on her front step. Curiosity without a hint of concern creased her brow as she leaned over him, lifting his chin with the toe of her shoe to see if he was breathing. Douglas wasn’t surprised by how good she looked at fifty-three; Carolyn still looked good in the present. He was, however, surprised by how carefree the smile was that curled her lips as she inspected Gordon’s blackening eye. It made him wish he had more time to get to know this version of Carolyn, one free from the present day burden of carrying MJN’s livelihood on her shoulders.

Her brow rose when she caught a glimpse of Douglas. She straightened and gave him a quick once over.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she asked.

Douglas glanced down at Gordon and offered her a shrug. “I hate your husband.”

Carolyn’s smile widened to her signature sharky grin.

“By all means, carry on then,” she said, waving her hand over Gordon’s body.

Arthur came up beside her as she finished her invitation, practically bouncing in from down the hall.

“Mum?” he asked. “Mum, where’s the-”

Arthur’s words stopped abruptly when he saw his father. He bent down beside him, his eyes widening as he looked over the damage. He pushed his fringe out of his face as he looked up to his mother for answers.

“What’s happened to Dad? And what’s that beeping sound?” he asked before Carolyn could answer his first question.

Arthur looked around, searching for the source, while Carolyn looked straight at Douglas.

He pushed back his sleeve to check the time on his watch; five minutes. Douglas shook his head; as satisfying as it’d been to punch Gordon in the face, he regretted taking the time to do it. Five minutes wasn’t enough; he’d never make it home in time. He’d have to go somewhere else. Douglas hastily searched his mind for the nearest suitable place to make his exit. He was fairly certain there was a library two or three streets over. It was hardly his first choice but it was the best he could think of and it would have to do.

He looked up at Carolyn and Arthur. Arthur was on his feet again, looking curiously at his mother. Carolyn had drawn him protectively close, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, her other hand firmly grasping his arm. She stared at Douglas’ watch, the source of the beeping, until he pulled down his sleeve, obscuring it from view.

“Who are you?” Carolyn asked. “Why are you here?”

“I wasn’t really meant to-”

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

Douglas’ watch continued to beep. He didn’t have time for answers.

“I’m sorry about the Talisker,” he apologized.

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

Douglas took a few steps down the drive before turning back to them.

“Take him for everything he’s worth,” he said, pointing at Gordon. He started for the street when one last thought occurred to him. “And for the sake of everyone he comes in contact with, put that boy in cooking lessons!” he shouted back over his shoulder.

Douglas ran to the end of the street and turned the corner in what he hoped was the right direction. His watch kept beeping, the sound becoming more and more insistent as he ran for the library.

He crashed through the doors and had to slow his pace to a power walk as he headed for back of the building. He rushed past tables and reading nooks, pacing the shelves in search of a deserted corner, struggling to muffle the beeping of his watch with his hand. Somewhere between engineering and agriculture, Douglas found an aisle where reshelving had been put off and forgotten about. He pushed through the shelving carts to reach the very end of the aisle.

He sank to the floor, hidden by the carts, and tried to calm his breathing. It was always harder to go back in than it was to go out; no one had ever been able to explain why that was.

Douglas’ watch stopped beeping. He looked down at the time; thirty seconds.

He retrieved the handkerchief from his pocket and twisted it into a roll.

Douglas put the fabric between his teeth, bit down, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Fifty-seven year old Douglas Richardson flew out of his chair and into the padded wall in front of him.

He hit it arms first, bracing himself and keeping his head from impact, a skill that had taken years to learn.

Douglas kept his eyes closed as he centered himself in his older, present day body. He was heavier, stiffer, and not quite as strong but, all in all, not bad for his age. He slowly pushed himself upright, using the wall for support, and leaned his whole body against it once he was standing.

When his heart rate had slowed to a normal pace, Douglas opened his eyes.

The room was sparsely furnished and softly lit. The chair he’d been sitting in for the last hour was on the floor, kicked over from the force of entry. A lamp and two bottles of water stood on the small table next to the room’s only door; there were no windows. Douglas walked slowly to the table, letting his fingers trail along the wall as he tested and settled into his legs. He drank down one bottle of water before taking the other in hand, turning off the light, and exiting the room.

Douglas made his way down the hall, past other rooms identical to the one he’d been in. The hallway was softly lit, as the room had been, and the overall brightness grew gently as he climbed a few steps to the lift bay and into a waiting lift. He drank the second bottle of water as he rode up, the interior of the lift growing brighter as it ascended.

Douglas stepped out of the lift and followed a long, skinny corridor to the ground floor of the Fitton Airfield air traffic control tower. He exited the tower and headed towards the car park.

His watch beeped twice and, out of habit, he swiftly pressed a button to answer it.

“Dispatch.”

“Douglas,” Carl’s voice spoke in his ear, “he wants you to go on a run.”

“I don’t do that anymore, Carl. You know that.”

“Douglas, I was watching the paths.”

“You’re _always_ watching, Carl,” Douglas muttered as he approached his car.

“Yes, I am. So, you should know that I saw you. I know you just came back from a run.”

Douglas slid into the driver’s seat and closed his hands around the steering wheel. He looked out at the hangars. GERTI stood out in front of her hangar, exactly where she’d been when he arrived at the airfield, exactly where she belonged.

“That was different,” he answered. “That was personal.”

“Douglas, you know you’re not supposed to-”

“I’m done, Carl,” Douglas interrupted. “Tell him I’m done. Take me off the registry, cycle my number, do whatever you have to do. I’m done; I’m not running anymore.”

He pushed a button on his watch to silence Carl’s complaints.

* * *

Douglas turned onto his street, pulled into his driveway, and parked next to Martin’s dilapidated van.

So far, so good.

As with everything he did, Douglas was an excellent dispatcher. However, no one, no matter how skilled, could guarantee the after effects of a run. The only way to see if things had changed--and, just as importantly, to see that things hadn’t _unintentionally_ changed--was to go back to one’s life and see.

Douglas stepped inside and moved slowly through his home, taking in every detail and noting whether or not it had been that way when he left. Wallchart on the fridge, wedding photos on the mantle, his daughter’s football gear scattered under the coffee table; all just as they were when he’d left the house. Not everything was the same though. The trips written on the wallchart, Martin’s uniform jacket hung up in the hall, the basket of muffins on the dining room table; all slightly different from when he saw them last.

He paid no attention to the trips. He eyed the muffins warily after reading the card folded on top (‘Happy MJN-iversary Skip! Love, Arthur’). He stopped to run his hands over Martin’s uniform jacket. It was clean, pressed, and hung with care, unlike when he’d seen it last night. Douglas straightened Martin’s wings and smiled softly at the freshly polished MJN Air logo in the center.

So far, so good.

After peeking into his daughter’s room and finding everything well, Douglas moved on to their bedroom. He found Martin fast asleep and stretched out over most of the bed. He looked comfortable and, more importantly, content.

Douglas changed his clothes and took off his watch, closing it in a box and setting it at the back of a drawer. It would have to be returned--all watches were destroyed once a dispatcher was cycled out--but that could wait for another day.

He climbed into bed with Martin and gathered the younger man in his arms. Martin murmured and turned into Douglas’ warmth, tucking his face into Douglas’ neck.

“Where’d you go?” he asked, his words muddled with sleep.

Douglas kissed the top of his head. “Out for a run.”

Martin snorted, a noise Douglas could never convince him he made.

“A run?” he scoffed. Martin yawned, settling in closer to Douglas as he finished. “Why would you do that? You hate exercising.”

Douglas laughed, unable to deny Martin’s accusation. “You’re right, I do.”

He drew Martin further into his embrace and nuzzled into his curls. Douglas covered the hand splayed over Martin’s chest with his own, running his thumb over the wedding band on Martin’s finger. He glanced at the clock behind Martin, feeling no pressure as time ticked away. Douglas relished the feel of cool sheets against his bare wrist, knowing that here, in the present, he didn’t have to hurry. He had more than one hour to spend with Martin; he had every hour for the rest of his life.

Douglas closed his eyes and whispered over the gentle rumble of Martin’s snores.

“I’ll probably never run again.”


End file.
